01/05/2542 – RAW Assault Carrier "Iron Rain", High Orbit Over UTF Colony World Thalor Prime
The *Silent Whisper* dropped from hyperspace like a predator uncloaking for the kill—stealth fields peeling back just long enough to launch the boarding torpedo. The projectile punched through the RAW carrier's hangar shields in a silent flash, burrowing deep into the hull before detonating shaped charges.
Elias erupted from the breach pod—armor sealed, resonance blade already ignited in his right hand, XR-9X coil rifle in the left. The hangar bay was chaos: klaxons howling, red strobes flashing, RAW marines scrambling to battle stations as atmosphere vented in controlled bursts.
*They weren't ready,* he thought, green eyes scanning through the visor. *Good. Surprise is half the win.*
Nova's voice was a hot whisper in his helmet. "Hangar crew: twenty marines forming up behind overturned Warhogs. Two Thunderbolt gunships powering up. Bridge is four decks up—spine corridor. Make them bleed."
He moved.
First marines opened fire from behind vehicle cover—R-77 rounds hammering his shields in a continuous roar. Impacts rippled across the energy field—sparks cascading like fireworks.
Elias charged straight into it.
Shields flared white-hot, absorbing hundreds of rounds per second. He vaulted a Warhog—exoskeleton launching him fifteen meters. Landed amid the first fire team.
Blade sang.
Horizontal sweep—three marines bisected at the waist, armor parting like cloth. Reverse thrust—impaled a fourth through the chestplate, lifting the body and using it as a shield while coil rifle barked over the corpse.
Flechettes screamed—hypersonic darts punching through cover and flesh. Marines dropped in sprays of red.
Gunships lifted—door gunners hosing the deck.
Elias leapt again—gauntlet clamping one skid mid-flight. Servos whined as he hauled himself aboard. Blade carved through the gunner in a single arc—head and shoulders separating.
Pilot banked hard—trying to shake him.
He climbed inside—cockpit chaos. Copilot spun with a sidearm.
Pulse pistol fired twice—overcharged bolts melting helmet and controls.
Gunship spiraled, crashing into the hangar deck in a fireball that engulfed half the marines.
Second gunship strafed—cannons chewing the floor where he'd been.
Elias rolled behind wreckage—shields critical now, armor plating scorched.
*Feel the burn,* he thought, adrenaline surging. *Push through it.*
He rose—sprinted through the flames, leaping onto the second gunship's wing as it passed low.
Gauntlet punched through canopy—ripped the pilot out mid-flight. Gunship nosedived, exploding against the far bulkhead.
Hangar clear—bodies and burning vehicles scattered.
"Spine corridor ahead," Nova said, voice thick with thrill. "Platoon setting up barricades—heavy repeaters, rocket tubes."
Elias reloaded on the move—magazines slapped home with metallic finality.
He advanced up the central lift shaft—free-climbing past blast doors, resonance blade cutting through locks when needed.
Spine corridor was a kill zone: three layered barricades, thirty marines, repeaters and rockets ready.
They opened fire the moment he appeared.
The world narrowed to fire and thunder.
Rounds slammed his armor—shields gone now, plates denting, sparks flying. Pain flared across ribs—shrapnel breach.
He roared forward anyway.
Coil rifle on full auto—flechettes turning barricades into shredders. Marines fell screaming.
Rocket tube fired—Elias sidestepped, caught the missile mid-flight with gauntlet—servos screaming at max—and hurled it back into the nest. Detonation shredded the front line.
He closed—blade flashing in tight, brutal arcs.
Marine swung a Thunderclap shotgun point-blank—blast hammered his chestplate, cracking composite.
Elias drove the blade through the man's torso, lifted, slammed him into the next.
Repeaters hosed—rounds punching holes in armor now. Blood trickled warm down his side.
*Ignore it. End them.*
He vaulted the final barricade—landed in the midst of the command squad.
Blade whirlwind—limbs severed, helmets split. Pulse pistol in off-hand—overcharged shots melting faces at arm's length.
Last marine—a sergeant—charged with a combat knife, desperate roar.
Elias caught the wrist—crushed—reversed the blade, drove it through the man's throat.
Silence.
Corridor slick with blood. Bodies piled.
He leaned against a bulkhead—breathing hard, armor smoking.
Nova appeared close—holographic hand hovering over wounds.
"Bridge next. You're bleeding—left flank graze. I'm sealing remotely."
He pushed off the wall. "Time?"
"Seven minutes burned. Carrier launching fighters—interceptors inbound."
He advanced—bridge doors ahead, guarded by final elite squad.
They charged with flamers and shotguns.
He met them in the choke.
Flamer washed over him—armor heat warnings screaming. He walked through the fire—blade carving the flamer marine in half, fuel tank detonating in a back-blast that engulfed the squad.
Shotguns boomed—close range blasts cracking plates.
He powered through—gauntlet crushing skulls, blade impaling.
Bridge doors breached.
Inside: captain and officers scrambling to consoles.
Elias strode in—towering black figure dripping blood and flame.
Captain raised a sidearm—hand shaking.
He disarmed the man with casual brutality—wrist snap, weapon crushed.
Blade to throat.
"Scuttle order?"
Captain spat defiance.
Elias pressed—blade drawing blood.
Nova interfaced—consoles exploding in data spikes.
"Self-destruct disabled. Ship is ours."
He finished the bridge crew—efficient, merciless.
Then set charges on the core.
Exfil through burning corridors—fighter squadrons scrambling too late.
*Whisper* scooped him as the carrier bloomed into a silent fireball behind.
In the troop bay, helmet off—face bloodied, eyes fierce.
Nova close—possessive pride burning.
"You were a god out there."
He exhaled.
*Pain later. Victory now.*
Back at the compound—days later, wounds healing fast under genetic augments.
Aria and Liora waited.
They took him to bed—hands stripping armor remnants, mouths on scars.
He dominated harder—fueled by battle rage.
Aria on her knees first—mouth stretched around him, eyes watering as he gripped hair and thrust deep.
Liora bound lightly with her own woven silks—wrists to headboard, body arched as he took her from behind, spanking until skin glowed red.
Then both—stacked, him alternating, hands on throats lightly, breeding talk growled low.
*Fill you. Mark you. Own every inch.*
They screamed for more.
He gave it—rough, relentless, until exhaustion claimed them.
Kinks stirring—light bondage from Liora's fabrics, spanking leaving marks they'd wear proudly.
Slow build.
War escalating outside.
But inside—his sanctuary deepened.